


Must Be Thursday (Never got the hang of Thursday)

by akire_yta



Category: Heroes (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://whackapetrelli.livejournal.com/">Whackapetrelli</a> challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must Be Thursday (Never got the hang of Thursday)

**Author's Note:**

> **Evil!Prompt:** During the story, there is a terrible misunderstanding. During the story, a character drinks something they haven't had in a while. The story must have a kraken at the beginning.  
>  **For:**   
> **Notes:** Hey, that kind of ending worked for ‘String Theory!’ Just imagine other Heroes have their story woven through this, just like in the real Heroes!

“How’d it go, people?”

Ianto shot his boss a mild glare as he stepped carefully over the lip of the watertight doors and into the Hub proper, holding his carefully folded suit jacket out in front of him. The sound of large drips smacking into the metal grating was like a heartbeat. “We were successful in containing the creature, sir.”

“So much squid and chips,” Owen translated for the Hub at large as he pushed roughly by Ianto and slung himself into his chair. “How’d you lot go tracking Tinkerbell?”

Gwen shrugged and leaned forward over her desk. “False alarm. Hoax call.”

Owen snorted and swivelled his chair around to prop his feet up on his desk. “Fucking typical.”

The treacherous part of Ianto’s brain couldn’t help note how _carefully_ Owen’s eyes tried to avoid Gwen’s cleavage.

And how _on-display_ that cleavage was.

The feel of salty water soaking into his cuffs brought his attention back to the task at hand. Turning away from the bizarre mating display going on at the consoles, he headed down towards the lower levels and the locker room where he was sure he had a suit still in its dry-cleaning bag. Jack had already turned back to huddle with Tosh around something in the engineering bay.

He had trained himself diligently to stop thinking of it as Suzie’s workstation, even in the privacy of his own mind.

The sounds of playful banter and technological chatter faded as he turned around the first bend and felt the floor slope downwards into the subterranean depths.

He went through the familiar ritual of changing brine-soaked shirt and jacket in a kind of automatic trance. It was therefore completely unfair, he always thought later, to be accused of negligence when two strangers appeared out of thin air and smashed him into the metal lockers.

Ianto gasped and swore under his breath as he rubbed the already-growing lump on his forehead. Rolling onto his knees, he snatched up his headpiece from where it had fallen. “Jack – intruder alert, sub-basement one. They’re headed towards the cells.”

He heard Jack mutter a curse even as the low yellowish lights shifted into a flashing brilliant red. By then, Ianto was already running.

The cells, the cells… As his feet pounded along the poured concrete floor, Ianto mentally ran through the current list of inmates. They hadn’t bothered even trying to arrest the kraken, and up until today the week had been quiet – leaving only Janet, pacing her tiny cage and making her low croons and wails.

Ianto slowed as he approached the first turning. Left was straight into the Archives, a dead end; a glance saw the door at the end of that corridor still firmly closed, the dust leading up to it undisturbed. Right led to the Hub, and into Jack’s waiting arms. Straight on were the cells. Ianto sped up and powered on, almost certain that the others would be only moments behind him.

He almost fell, teetering at the top of the stairs going down into the cell levels, but righted himself at the last minute.

The intruders didn’t even seem to notice. They were too busy arguing.

“Pete, there’s nothing here! It’s a dead end.” The intruder seemed exasperated as he rubbed his temples slowly. “I don’t know why I even let you talk me into this.”

“Isaac’s painting was pretty clear, Nathan. I mean, come on…” The other one waved his hands around, taking in the cells, the walls, and Ianto. Two pairs of eyes stared at him. Nathan, who seemed the older one of the pair, just raised one eyebrow slightly in what Ianto felt was a challenge.

Obviously, that was his cue for manly and direct action.

“Hello.”

The pair stared at Ianto, their faces clearly showing what all three men were thinking. Ianto would have slapped himself, had not Jack and Owen chosen that moment to barrel through the door and straight into his back, driving him off the top of the short flight of steps and into the hard concrete floor.

Janet’s howls accompanied him into unconsciousness.

~#~

Ianto came to slumped – dumped, the sarcastic commentary of his mind translated – on the narrow old couch jammed up against the wall of the main work area.

There was shouting. Lots of shouting. Ignoring the urge to just lie there until the problem went away, Ianto slid off the couch and pushed himself awkwardly onto his feet. His head throbbed like a bitch, and the echo of shouting off the high walls of the Hub was doing little to ease the pain.

High above them all, Myfanwy squawked her displeasure. “You and me both,” Ianto muttered bitterly under his breath. In Welsh.

“Oh hey, you shouldn’t be standing, that was a hell of a knock you took.” Warm hands took him by the shoulder and gently steered him into Toshiko’s chair. Up close, the interloper was young, maybe his age, but much more slender, all brown eyes and long hair falling into his face.

Ianto found himself hoping that, if he was an alien fallen through the Rift, he was the nice, friendly kind and not the ‘tear your heart out and enslave your world’ kind.

Warm hands drifted up from his shoulder to brush his forehead. “Let me take a look at you. How do you feel? Nausea, dizziness? My name’s Peter. Can you remember your name and today’s date?”

Behind Peter, his companion ran a hand through short-cropped hair. “For god’s sake, Pete…”

Peter was pulled away, only to be replaced by the far less pleasant presence of Owen who irritably flashed a penlight across Ianto’s eyes. “He’s fine,” he declared shortly. “You lot, on the other hand, you’re in big trouble.”

“Not as big as you are,” Peter replied hotly. “There’s this _thing_ , and it’s going to appear here and destroy the city.”

Tosh raised one delicate eyebrow. “Must be Thursday.”

Jack shuffled on the spot, and Ianto knew he was grinning at the floor. “Okay, Peter and…” He turned and pinned the older man with a glance. “Nathan? Take it from the top.”

Ianto couldn’t help but notice Nathan wince as Peter took a deep breath and told his story.

A man painting the future. A hellish apocalypse. Unearthly monsters.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth.” Peter trailed off, broadcasting his defiance, obviously bracing himself for the inevitable wave of scepticism.

Jack looked around at his team. “Okay people, you heard him. Code five.”

“Code five?” Peter wobbled on the spot, buffeted by the sudden burst of movement as the Torchwood team scrambled to their stations.

“It’s our SOP for situations like this.”

“Wait, you have a _plan?_ Why? What for?”

Tosh shrugged, eyes glued to her screens. “It’s Thursday.”

~#~

Ianto made coffee. It was his fallback default setting whenever a situation started brewing – ‘pun intended?’ he thought to himself – and there was nothing else for him to do but wait for an order.

Moving calmly around the Hub, he noted their progress through the first stage of the investigation. Tosh’s screens displayed a kaleidoscope of CCTV footage. Gwen was on the phone, her voice a giggle and her eyes hard as she deftly outmanoeuvred whoever was on the other end. Owen’s screens held detailed autopsy and crime scene photos, and Ianto set the cup on his table and moved quickly on.

Jack had installed the visitors in his office and was interrogating them in a manner that vaguely echoed Gwen’s performance at the other end of the Hub.

Jack accepted a cup with a nod of thanks. “Ianto, just the man I need. We need to pull every file we have on human genetic mutation, supernatural abilities. The unexplained, the downright spooky. You probably have a file on it already.”

Ianto allowed himself a small smile. “I believe I do, sir. It won’t take me a moment.”

“Wait.” Ianto paused on the threshold as Peter jumped out of his seat and began rummaging through the pockets of his overcoat. “Here, these may help.” In his hand was a small black notebook. Peter offered it to him, already opened to show a page covered in drawings, bookmarked by a photograph of a painting. Ianto took it and held it up to the light for a closer look. “I…I shall keep it in mind, thank you,” he managed, handing it back quickly.

Not waiting for something else to delay him, he moved quickly out of the main area and down again, this time towards the archive room. He didn’t want Jack to see his face – he could keep a lot from Jack, but sometimes the older man could be incredibly perceptive.

Ianto needed time to think about what Peter had shown him. It wasn’t like he was keeping a secret, it was assessing the available information. He repeated that to himself like a mantra as he escaped into the Archives.

~#~

The streetlights cast strange patterns of light and dark across Peter’s face as they drove through the late-night streets of the city. Ianto shifted down a gear as he negotiated the SUV through a particularly tight roundabout. Speeding back up again, he risked another glance at Peter. His eyes looked strange, washed out, like they were seeing the world from behind a veil of smoke. Behind them, he heard Jack, Nathan and Tosh shift uncomfortably in the narrow back seat.

A crackle in his headset jolted his attention back to the road. “Oi, has the kid found his magical doomsday spot yet?”

Behind him, he heard Jack tap his own earpiece. “Not yet, Owen. Just keep up, okay?”

Ianto glanced in the rear view, noting Owen’s sleek dark sports car one place behind him in the flow of traffic. There just hadn’t been room for the entire team plus the two newcomers in the SUV, and Peter had been as adamant that they wouldn’t find the spot without him as Nathan had that they were not going to be separated.

“Left here.” Peter’s voice was low, little more than a mumbled whisper. Ianto indicated and made the turn, sparing another glance to make sure Owen was still with them.

The traffic thinned out around them as they cleared the city and headed deeper into the surrounding suburbs. When Peter finally gave the command to stop, Ianto pulled up under the shadow of a large tree. Just ahead of them, the houses gave way to the deep shadows of a copse that signalled the transition from suburbia to countryside.

Owen’s car pulled up as the rest of them piled out of the SUV, stretching cramped limbs.

“If you’re leading us on a fucking goose chase, mate, I swear I’ll make your fucking apocalypse seem like paradise.” Owen’s displeasure was clear through the crackle of the headsets.

The threat didn’t seem to register. Peter waved vaguely towards the copse. “He’s in there.”

Jack pulled his pistol. “Right. Owen and Gwen, that way. Tosh, with me. Ianto?” He jerked his head towards where Peter and Nathan had regrouped. His meaning was clear: babysit the civilians.

Ianto gave a curt nod in return as he took a small step towards the pair. Peter closed his eyes as the rest of the team vanished into the woods. “Okay, they’re gone.” He opened his eyes and smiled as Ianto whipped around to face him. “Sorry, but we needed them out of the way to talk to you.”

Ianto stared, feeling his pulse start to race. “Is this about that drawing you showed me?” He swallowed, his throat tight. “That was me in it, wasn’t it?”

Peter looked at Ianto through his fringe of hair, face shadowed and eyes sparkling with devious delight, a marked contrast to the uncertain young man who had been giving Jack information. “What else did you see?”

Ianto breathed out slowly. This was a test, he could taste it. “I saw myself, gun drawn. I was firing on someone…” He met Peter’s gaze and held it. “Someone on fire.”

Peter smiled. Behind him, Nathan buried his face in his hands and groaned.

~#~

“Ianto? Ianto, come in?”

Ianto stared at the SUVs communications console for a panicked second before Peter reached over and slapped at the buttons. Jack’s voice faded and died.

He could feel the other two staring at him, waiting for him to make the first move. “So tell me again,” he said. “From the beginning.”

He drove steadily as Peter spoke of humans with special abilities – “All true,” Nathan concurred - being hunted by a psychopath who stole their abilities by cutting open their heads – “Also true, I’m afraid” – and how it was their job to stop him.

“That,” Nathan said drily from his position in the back, “is somewhat debatable.”

“And what,” Ianto asked, deciding to cut right to the heart of his concerns with the story. “Have I got to do with it?”

“Don’t you see,” Peter said anxiously. “You’re one of us!”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I don’t think so,” he managed as kindly as he could.

“You are!” Peter insisted. Ianto bit his lip to stop from grinning.

Nathan obviously had the same thought as Ianto. “Do you want to stamp your foot as you say that, Pete? Add a little more weight to your argument?”

Peter sat back and smiled. “Remember, back underground? I gave you a book, to look at a picture.”

Ianto suppressed the urge to shudder slightly. “Of me shooting the burning man.”

Nathan sat forward and balanced between the two front seats. “By the way, Peter, why did you show him that one? I thought we agreed to do this my way.” There was a whole argument buried in that single statement.

Peter smiled like a man laying down a winning hand of cards. “I didn’t. I showed him the same one I showed you, Nathan. But that picture was in that book.”

Nathan shook his head. “You just opened it to the wrong page.”

“I’ll prove it!” He began to shuffle in his seat, digging the notebook out again. “Ianto, when I gave you the book earlier, where was it open to? Roughly.”

Curiosity got the better of Ianto. “Maybe a few pages before the halfway mark. It was an equal thickness either side, but the pages on the right still had to be held down to keep it open.”

Peter flipped through the pages. “Like this?”

Ianto spared a glance. “Yes, that’s about right.”

Peter turned the book around. Ianto could only make out the vague impression of the drawing from the drivers’ seat, but he heard Nathan make a small noise of assent. “Yeah, that’s the picture you showed me, but…”

Peter flipped the pages again. “Last picture in the book. Is this what you saw?”

Ianto took the book and balanced it carefully on the steering wheel. Under the flash of a passing streetlight, he saw the already too-familiar sweeps of red and yellow. “Yes.”

Peter took the book back. “You always know what’s in books, don’t you.” It was more statement of fact than a question.

Ianto took a deep breath. Jack was already going to fire him, kill him and retcon him, and not necessarily in that order. What was one more black mark? “Not just books. Files, archives…anything where the information is physically recorded.” He bit his lip. “I think I even do it sometimes with CDs and flash drives. I handle them, then I just seem to know the information they contain.”

Peter was nodding. “I thought it might be something like that.” He twisted in his seat to address Nathan. “I tried it out, back underground. I touched a book, and suddenly I had this impression of what it’s about. This one is fiction, historical. That one is technical, all numbers and line drawings. It was amazing, Nathan.”

“That’s one word for it,” Ianto murmured as he negotiated the last turn and cut the engine. “We’re here.”

The three men stared up at the glowing façade of the Millennium Centre. Ianto was the first to break the silence, well aware that Jack and the others would already be hot on their trail. “Come on, let’s go.”

~#~

 

Despite the location of the Hub, Ianto had only rarely ventured inside the Centre itself. At this hour, the place had a closed, silent look.

“Any great ideas on getting us in, Pete?”

Ianto looked around and spotted the security box. “We use the key?” The two men stared as he produced an electronic pass-card from his wallet and swiped it past the sensor. The security light flickered from red to green, and with a low buzz the door closest to them unlocked. “Quick, it’s set to relock in thirty seconds.”

Inside the concourse, Nathan turned to face him with a raised eyebrow.

Ianto met his stare with an inscrutable look. “Emergency entrance to the Hub was built into the foundations of the Centre. Torchwood has special access.” Nathan tilted his head, accepting the explanation without demur.

Peter pushed past them impatiently. “We need to find the…it was like a theatre, or a big auditorium. Weird walls.”

Ianto nodded. “This way.”

They moved silently in single file through the structure, each aware of how the empty space absorbed totally all sound. Ianto paused in the shadows opposite the main doors to the auditorium. In response to their questioning looks, he gestured at the entrance. “It should be locked,” he whispered as quietly as he could. Yet, even in the low light, they could see the door was slightly ajar.

As he considered his options, Ianto became aware he was standing in the middle of a silent but furious argument. He snapped his head back and forth, trying to make sense of their code.

All he succeeded in doing was making himself feel a bit dizzy.

“Fine,” Nathan huffed. “Follow me.”

The look Peter shot him needed no translation. _Like hell…_

Ianto trailed the pair more cautiously as they slipped through the small gap and into the auditorium itself. The room was full of shadows cast by the low glow of the running lights. “Wait.”

“What?”

Ianto gestured at the lines of light running down towards the stage. “Why are the lights on at all?”

“That would be me.”

The three men span around. Jack sauntered forward, hands in the pocket of his greatcoat. Ianto knew that smile. Nothing good ever came from it. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Jack would pull a gun and shoot him right there. Beside him, Peter’s eyes flicked nervously between Ianto and Jack, and he cautiously moved slightly closer.

Was this boy going to protect him from all he’d done? Ianto couldn’t help the sarcastic little twitch to his lips as he lifted his chin to face Jack squarely, firmly but gently pushing Peter away.

Jack’s smile spoke volumes. Ignoring the little powerplay, he casually looked towards the stage. “You’ll have to apologise to Owen. There was no room for all of us in his car, so I left him and Gwen there and took Tosh. She tracked you — by the way Ianto, if you’ve damaged my car, I’ll take it out of your pay.” Not waiting for a reply, he shifted gears from cheerful to vicious. “Now. What the _fuck_ are you playing at?”

Ianto opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. What was he doing?

That was as far as he got before there was a flash of light and an explosion that knocked him off his feet. Through the ringing in his brain, Ianto could just make out Peter pushing himself to his feet — ‘how?’ he managed to think — then there was pressure, a sense of burning cold, and he knew no more.

~#~

 

“Drink.” Ianto took the proffered mug, took an obedient swig, and grimaced.

“Bovril? I haven’t had this since I was a child.” He eyed the contents of his mug with an expression bordering on disgust. “I remember why, now.”

Gwen fussed with the blanket, tucking it back in where it had fallen off his shoulders. “Drink up, it’s good for you.” She smiled at his look of petulant defiance. “I know. My dad used to give me the same speech. But he was right.” She nodded meaningfully towards the cup. “Father knows best.”

Ianto felt his face freeze into place. He rolled the mug between his hands, drawing the warmth in through his hands instead. “I wouldn’t know.”

He sensed more than saw Gwen freeze, mentally backpedalling, and took pity on her. “Where’s Jack?”

“With Owen and Tosh, searching the theatre.”

Ianto took a deep breath. “And Peter and Nathan?”

Gwen’s eyes added to his chill. “Vanished. No trace of anyone.”

Ianto hunched over the warmth in the mug and said no more. Gwen drifted away, but he knew she was around, watching him. Probably under Jack’s orders. Mentally, Ianto began reviewing procedures, making lists of all the things that would need to be put in order before Jack removed him from Torchwood 3.

However that removal would occur. Dead or forgotten, it was all the same.

The whir of the elevator roused him from his contemplations. Rug slipping from his shoulders, Ianto rose to his feet and walked slowly down the ramp to meet it.

Owen’s glare was poisonous as he pushed roughly past him. Tosh didn’t meet his eyes at all. That hurt worse.

“Follow me,” Jack snapped. Coming to heel like a whipped puppy, Ianto followed Jack miserably down into the sub-basements. At first, Ianto thought he was being led to the cells, but Jack strode straight past the entrance to the cell.

Ianto’s confusion was growing as he saw the turning Jack took. Following, he watched in puzzlement as Jack unlocked the door to the Archives and stood aside to gesture him in.

Despite the looming threat, Ianto felt his breathing slow. This was his domain, his place of safety, his own little hideaway within the bustle of the Hub. Why had Jack brought him here?

“Sir?” He tried carefully.

“Aren’t you going to explain, or offer up a defence for your actions, Ianto?” Jack’s voice was carefully neutral, perfectly controlled. It gave nothing away.

Ianto couldn’t help but give a small, sarcastic smile. “Would it do me any good?”

Jack was walking around the room, picking things up, turning them over, putting them down. “With your recent record, probably not.”

Ianto accepted the rebuke with a slight dip of his head.

“What I don’t understand is why you made us listen?”

He felt his head snap up, surprised. “Sir?”

“You turned off your receiver, but you left the transmitter running. Why? Surely you’d know we could track that?”

“I…I…” Memory flashed a card. “I didn’t turn it off. Peter did.”

At last Jack turned to face him. “Peter?” He could see Jack thinking. “You can’t accidentally turn off one and not the other. Completely the opposite, in fact.” Suddenly, so suddenly Ianto felt breathless, Jack was in his face, so close he could feel warm puffs of air as the other man spoke. “What did he want us to hear? That story of super heroes and villains? We live on the Rift, Ianto, but that doesn’t mean we have to believe that comic books are real.”

Ianto realized there was something worse than Jack’s anger. This pitying, condescending tone drove into him like a knife, and he found himself pushing into Jack, pulling him over to the nearest wall.

He snatched up a small device that looked a lot like the speaker phone in the upstairs conference room in shape if not colour. “See this? Tosh said it was a data device, but neither she nor you could crack into the database.”

Jack folded his arms, his expression clearly showing that he was humouring Ianto. “And?”

He closed his eyes, wrapping both hands around the device, long fingers delicately stroking the arms of the device. It was hardest like this, a machine, alien no less. And the power was almost gone, leaving only a faint, faint echo. But it was enough. “Star charts. Mining records. Probably scout ship data.” He took one hand off the device to sketch an arc through the air. “Lots of information about a star that is sentient. Logs of discussions on how to approach it to get a sample for study without being sucked into the corona too…” He let go with a huff of air and carefully returned it to the shelf. Leaning against the wall, he spoke without looking at Jack. “I can do that with every artefact here, Jack. Every book, every data recorder. Anything that stores information in codified form. I remember every one.” He finally looked up. “I’m not just the archivist anymore, Jack. I am the archive. I think that’s what Peter wanted you to hear.”

Jack was staring at him in disbelief. “You’re not joking, are you?” His tone made it clear he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him.

“Test me, if you want. Any book, anything.”

Jack shook his head. “And what happened upstairs?”

Ianto laughed bitterly. “I was going to ask you the same question. One minute, the four of us talking, the next I feel like I am being hit over the head with a runaway iceberg.”

“At least we didn’t get Celine Dion too.”

Ianto laughed, feeling the tension shatter. “If she did show up, I would have asked you to kill me.”

Jack’s face sobered. “I couldn’t do that, Ianto. Not to you.”

Ianto looked away, not ready to attempt to decipher the look on Jack’s face just yet. “Was it Sylar, upstairs?”

“I honestly don’t know. I have Tosh running CCTV, but…”

“Given how Peter and Nathan arrived _here_ , she probably won’t find anything.”

Jack laughed and touched Ianto’s arm to make him look up again. “The Amazing Brothers Petrelli. They appear, they disappear…”

“Petrelli?” Ianto interrupted him.

“Yeah. Peter and Nathan Petrelli, live from New York, if I’m any judge of accents. Why? Do you know that name?”

Ianto turned and stalked deeper into his domain, Jack right behind him. Stopping at the appropriate cabinet, he tugged open a drawer and flicked through the pages.

“Ianto,” Jack said cautiously. “These are staff files.” He reached over and took the folder Ianto offered him. “And this is your file.”

“Birth certificate,” Ianto said shortly.

Silently, Jack flicked through the pages until he found the appropriate document.

“Parents,” was Ianto’s only curt instruction.

“Mother: Nerys Olwen Jones. Pretty name,” Jack commented. Ianto only gestured for him to keep reading. “Father: Montgomery Petrelli…” Jack’s head snapped up.

“I was illegitimate, Jack. Ma never even told me his name. I only learnt it when I came to work for Torchwood, and I got a copy of my own file.” He grinned darkly. “Petrelli is not exactly a traditional Welsh name, is it?”

“Ianto Petrelli. Kind of has a ring to it.” Jack tilted his head to one side. “I can see the resemblance, though.” At Ianto’s look of surprise, his smile developed a wicked sparkle. “All three of you seem to have a knack for causing mayhem.”


End file.
